Arthur O'Leary: His Wanderings And Ponderings In Many Lands. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ said I, with my most polite bow.

      “Good night, then,” said she; “schlaf wohl, and don’t mind the ghost.”

      “Ah, I know him of old,” replied I, striking the table three times with my cane. The woman, whose voice the moment before was in a tone of jest, suddenly grew pale, and, as she crossed herself devoutly, muttered – “Nein! Nein! don’t do that;” and shutting the door, hurried down stairs with all the speed she could muster.

      I was in no hurry to bed, however. The “krug” was racy, the “canastre” excellent: so, placing the light where it should fall with good effect on the Holbein, I stretched out my legs to the blaze; and, as I looked upon the canvas, began to muse over the story with which it was associated, and which I may as well jot down here, for memory’s sake.

      Frank Holbein, having more ambition and less industry than the rest of his family, resolved to seek his fortune; and early in the September of the year 1681, he found himself wandering in the streets of Paris, without a liard in his pocket, or any prospects of earning one. He was a fine-looking, handsome youth, of some eighteen or twenty years, with a sharp, piercing look, and that Spanish cast of face for which so many Dutch families are remarkable. He sat down, weary and hungry, on one of the benches of the Pont de la Cité, and looked about him wistfully, to see what piece of fortune might come to his succour. A loud shout, and the noise of people flying in every direction, attracted him. He jumped up, and saw persons running hither and thither to escape from a calèche, which a pair of runaway horses were tearing along at a frightful rate. Frank blessed himself, threw off his cloak, pressed his cap firmly upon his brow, and dashed forward. The affrighted animals slackened their speed as he stood before them, and endeavoured to pass by; but he sprang to their heads, and with one vigorous plunge, grasped the bridle; but though he held on manfully, they continued their way; and, notwithstanding his every effort, their mad speed scarcely felt his weight, as he was dragged along beside them. With one tremendous effort, however, he wrested the near horse’s head from the pole, and, thus compelling him to cross his fore-legs, the animal tripped, and came headlong to the ground with a smash, that sent poor Frank spinning some twenty yards before them. Frank soon got up again; and though his forehead was bleeding, and his hand severely cut, his greatest grief was, his torn doublet, which, threadbare before, now hung around him in ribbons.

      “It was you who stopped them? – are you hurt?” said a tall, handsome man, plainly but well dressed, and in whose face the trace of agitation was clearly marked.

      “Yes, sir,” said Frank, bowing respectfully. “I did it; and see how my poor doublet has suffered!”

      “Nothing worse than that?” said the other, smiling blandly. “Well, well, that is not of so much moment. Take this,” said he, handing him his purse; “buy yourself a new doublet, and wait on me to-morrow by eleven.”

      With these words the stranger disappeared in a calèche, which seemed to arrive at the moment, leaving Frank in a state of wonderment at the whole adventure.

      “How droll he should never have told me where he lives!” said he, aloud, as the bystanders crowded about him, and showered questions upon him.

      “It is Monsieur le Ministre, man – M. de Louvois himself, whose life you’ve saved. Your fortune is made for ever.”

      The speech was a true one. Before three months from that eventful day, M. de Louvois, who had observed and noted down certain traits of acuteness in Frank’s character, sent for him to his bureau.

      “Holbein,” said he, “I have seldom been deceived in my opinion of men – you can be secret, I think.”

      Frank placed his hand upon his breast, and bowed in silence.

      “Take the dress you will find on that chair: a carriage is now ready, waiting in the court-yard – get into it, and set out for Bâle. On your arrival there, which will be – mark me well – about eight o’clock on the morning of Thursday, you’ll leave the carriage, and send it into the town, while you must station yourself on the bridge over the Rhine, and take an exact note of everything that occurs, and every one that passes, till the cathedral clock strikes three. Then, the calèche will be in readiness for your return; and lose not a moment in repairing to Paris.”

      It was an hour beyond midnight, in the early part of the following week, that a calèche, travel-stained and dirty, drove into the court of the minister’s hotel, and five minutes after, Frank, wearied and exhausted, was ushered into M. de Louvois’ presence.

      “Well, Monsieur,” said he impatiently, “what have you seen?”

      “This, may it please your Excellency,” said Frank, trembling, “is a note of it; but I am ashamed that so trivial an account – ”

      “Let us see – let us see,” said the minister.

      “In good truth, I dare scarcely venture to read such a puerile detail.”

      “Read it at once, Monsieur,” was the stern command.

      Frank’s face became deep-red with shame, as he began thus: —

      “Nine o’clock. – I see an ass coming along, with a child leading him. The ass is blind of one eye. – A fat German sits on the balcony, and is spitting into the Rhine – ”

      “Ten. – A livery servant from Bâle rides by, with a basket. An old peasant in a yellow doublet – ”

      “Ah, what of him?

      “Nothing remarkable, save that he leans over the rails, and strikes three blows with his stick upon them.

      “Enough, enough,” said M. de Louvois, gaily. “I must awake the king at once.”

      The minister disappeared, leaving Frank in a state of bewilderment. In less than a quarter of an hour he entered the chamber, his face covered with smiles.

      “Monsieur,” said he, “you have rendered his majesty good service. Here is your brevet of colonel. – The king has this instant signed it.”

      In eight days after, was the news known in Paris, that Strasburg, then invested by the French army, had capitulated, and been reunited to the kingdom. The three strokes of the cane being the signal, which announced the success of the secret negotiation between the ministers of Louis XIV., and the magistrates of Strasburg.

      This, was the Franz Holbein of the picture, and if the three coups de bâton are not attributable to his ghost, I can only say, I am totally at a loss to say where they should be charged; for my own part, I ought to add, I never heard them, conduct which I take it was the more ungracious on the ghost’s part, as I finished the schiedam, and passed my night on the hearth rug, leaving the feather-bed with its down coverlet quite at master Frank’s disposal.

      Although the “Schwein Kopf” stands in one of the most prominent squares of Rotterdam, and nearly opposite the statue of Erasmus, it is comparatively little known to English travellers. The fashionable hotels which are near the quay of landing, anticipate the claims of this more primitive house; and yet, to any one desirous of observing the ordinary routine of a Dutch family, it is well worth a visit. The buxsom Vrows who trudge about with short but voluminous petticoats, their heads ornamented by those gold or silver circlets, which no Dutch peasant seems ever to want, are exactly the very types of what you see in an Ostade or a Teniers. The very host himself, old Hoogendorp, is a study; scarcely five feet in height, he might measure nearly nine, in circumference, and in case of emergency could be used as a sluicegate, should any thing happen to the dykes. He was never СКАЧАТЬ